


An Aromantic Love Letter

by Nightmarechaser



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aromantic, Aromanticism, Friendship/Love, Gay For You, Love, Other, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, and honestly possibly somewhere on the ace spectrum but im unsure about that bit, basically i love my firefly very much and i wrote it all down, being explored through the means of me being very gay, but also very aromantic, in what is some of my best recent writing, prose, the difference between saying "i love you" and "i'm in love with you"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21752575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmarechaser/pseuds/Nightmarechaser
Summary: An exploration of the difference between romantic and platonic love, as well as queer-platonic feelings.
Relationships: qpp - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	An Aromantic Love Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my firefly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+firefly).



You do not make me feel butterflies in my stomach. That is not what I feel for you.

The novels and stories all talk about it, about how love should feel. They talk about nerves making you jitter out of your skin, they talk of butterflies fluttering in your stomach, they speak of sweaty palms and longing glances. They speak of burning, but I do not burn for you.

I ache.

Inside my chest, I ache, a cracked heart leaking love like syrup, almost painful in it’s sweetness. I taste the syrup on my tongue, dribbling off it in words of affection, too big to hold back. 

No, I do not burn for you. Fire is not the element of this love.

Water is.

Or, perhaps not water, but blood, for the way this feels reminds me so much of family. Of love sisterly and brotherly. Of the warmth I feel for mother and father and sister and brother and grandmother, but yet more so. 

It reminds me of friendly affections, the joyful twists of breath and lungs amongst laughter. Of classmates and companions, that same sort of easy connection, but yet more so.

More so, more so, more so.

For what is the water of the womb when compared to the blood of the covenant?

Like some ritual, some deal unearthly, I find myself brought back to you. I find myself drowning in what for others has always been puddles, yet yours has been an ocean, a stormy sea, stealing breath from my lungs. Of such love, not romantic as such, yet deeper than I have words to name.

Of love, sitting on the pavement in the park.

Of love, woven into the yarn of a gifted toy.

Of love, broadcasted a thousand miles over the airways.

Of love, in keystroke and pencil mark.

Of love, of love, of love, of love so dear and true, it’s flooded my heart until it must leak out through the cracks, overflowing syrupy sugar rushing up my throat and out from between my teeth, practically drowning me.

The stories speak of stupid things, writing your names together and imagining weddings, and here I can relate. I could see myself with you by my side, but I picture not grand dresses and balls, nor ceremony and circumstance.

I can see you and me, in an apartment of our own. We have plants and we have a cat. It’s not big, but it’s big enough for us. The sofa is soft, neither of us can cook fancy, we have quilts and pillows. 

I do not want to kiss you.

No, let me rephrase.

I do not wish to kiss you, deeply and wildly. I do not wish for the wildfire they speak of, of that dance. I want to kiss your forehead, your hands. I want to kiss your nose just to hear you laugh and I want to kiss your cheek just to be sweet. Your lips hold no appeal for me, let me kiss your palm instead, your closed eyelids, your head.

I do not wish to touch you, not as they say love should. I want to hold your hand, I want to hug you, I want to cuddle on rainy days and dance on sunny ones. I want to hear your heartbeat, and I want you close, but not as close as to be one.

I do not want you, not in that way. The way the other novels say, the way people imagine in the dead of night, that other kind of burning way. If I should have you in my bed, I wish it for sleeping. If I should see you naked, I wish it be from the shower, from comfort, nothing untoward.

I wish for intimacy, but not the sexual sort.

They speak of love, that romantic love, and say it is more. They speak of love, that sexual love, and say it is more powerful, brighter.

I wonder how anything can be more powerful than this. Currents in this sea, pulling me under, further, further, ‘til the light above is no more. Maybe that love is brighter, but in these depths, I see stars, little bioluminescent constellations swimming past. The pressure crushes me down, but my breath is long gone, stolen anyway.

How can this be lesser? Let your wildfires burn, and burn brightly, for when they burn out I shall still swim here. This is no passing fancy, no twist of whimsy. The tides may come and go, but the ocean never truly leaves. The waves may rise and fall, the storms may rage, but the water remains here. 

This love was slow to build and shall be even slower to leave, for I build it further everyday. In every smile, in every frown, in every laugh and trick. 

You do not make me feel butterflies in my stomach, I’ve eaten no insects today.

I love you, for we are two fish in the deep sea.


End file.
